Ah! ne'er shall your housetops tremble with the shout

of wisdom near
Till you work for the heart's high pleasure the things

you have wrought in fear;

Till never a man wax lusty on man his brother's need,
Or a woman's neck bend under the heel of woman's

seed;
Till Earth be Man's in its fullness, free, boundless,.

sea and sod,
And the voice of Rulers and People be one with the

Voice of God.

1915.

A HYMN TO THE SONG-GODDESS
Mother of Song and Singers! Mother of me
No less than of those made free
Of all thy realm of sea and earth and air,
Wherein, with feet in life set strongly fair,
With hands by noon or midnight splendours filled,
They for thine image here a godlike dwelling build.
Mother of Singers! Mother of me no less,
Although these hands
Lift no sharp trumpet blown for warlike bands
To rise, to march, to press
Through flame and smoke
Beleaguered walls, or in the wilderness
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